


Grr! Arrgh!

by ClosetFanGirl5



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV), The Vampire Diaries - L. J. Smith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6327703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClosetFanGirl5/pseuds/ClosetFanGirl5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombies! Delena! More zombies!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“This can't be my life,” I think as I wake up and slowly, painfully raise myself to a sitting position, the muscles in my neck and back screaming in protest. I can't believe I slept here. After a few minutes of wondering where the fuck I am, I realize the stiff and abrupt reality of the situation. The hard, cold floor of this mausoleum is not exactly inviting. Not that I had much choice in my temporary living quarters. Yesterday told me as much. The bump on my head and scratches on my skin tell me even more. I am lost. Lost and alone. Somebody make a reality show about me, please? I wish there were people left to produce those asinine shows.

 

The biggest question is what am I gonna do now? I have to survive somehow, but HOW? I've lost everyone that kept me alive. I feel completely unqualified for self-preservation.

 

_**Yesterday** _

 

“Caroline!” I yell as I watch her go down. The creature grabs her from behind and hauls her to the ground, biting into her shoulder. Its companions make quick work of clawing into her stomach and feasting on her entrails. They pull them out in handfuls. It's like watching small children go nuts on a pail of ice-cream. The blood that emanates from her and her cries for help dig a special hole in my soul. It's happening right in front of me. She's not the first, either. Most of our group is gone. But seeing her, my childhood friend, having her guts ripped out by one of _those,_ it just... Hurts. I need to keep moving.

 

It's just me, Matt and Bonnie now.

 

This was supposed to be a routine mission for supplies. We found this Piggly Wiggly and thought our luck couldn't get better, as it hadn't been raided yet. Plenty of preserved food and, much to Caroline's delight, alcohol. But Tyler's fuck up ruined everything. He let the door slam behind him.

 

It slammed. Loud.

 

I watched in horror as the faces of the walkers through the window turned in our direction. We should've just run. We should've. But April had the bright idea of opening fire on those motherfuckers. I mean, I don't really blame her. But I do, too. She had drawn the attention of every single walker in a five-block radius. Way to fucking go.

 

Soon enough the hoard was flooding in through the doors. We fought. We should've run. We should've fucking run! And this is why.

 

It's just me, Matt and Bonnie now. Fuck.

 

Bonnie is in front and she turns down a narrow alley. Matt and I move to follow her but a group of walkers emerges between us. “Bonnie!” I yell because I can't imagine being separated from her. She turns around and the look in her eyes breaks me. Acceptance. She knows we're all about to die. But, in that look is also fortitude. We won't go quietly. We will fight. “Just go!” She shouts. “I'll find you,” and I'm not sure how much I believe that but it's the push I need.

 

Matt and I continue straight, leaving Bonnie behind. The goddamn creatures are everywhere. I see a dead end ahead of us. Every available turn is crowded with walkers, their dead faces twisted with a primal need to feed, their lifeless eyes focused on us with no thoughts other than our downfall. Matt spots some scaffolding. Remnants of a job site long-forgotten. Metal ladders and wooden platforms, surely hated by some, but our only salvation.

 

“Elena!” He grabs me by the shoulder. “Come on,” he insists, hoisting me up onto the first level. I'm pretty sure zombies can't climb. I'm pretty sure Matt is a fucking genius right now. Once I'm up I turn to give him my hand to help him up, only to see apologetic eyes stare back at me as his throat is ripped out. Matt is dead. I'm alone. Just me. I can't do this. I HAVE to do this. For him. He can't die in vain.

 

I climb the scaffolding up to the second floor of the building. Breaking the glass, I enter through the window. I make my way back to the ground floor and exit via the back door where, luckily, no walkers are present. I make like a bat out of hell, tears streaming like a river raging from my horrified eyes.

 

_**Today** _

 

The rumble in my stomach reminds me that I can't stay here much longer. A mausoleum. A fucking tomb. How cliché. I run away from the walking dead and towards a fucking cemetery. Brilliant. But at least my heart is still beating. Now what, though?

 

I guess I need to find food. I crack the door, hesitantly, surveying the area to make sure I'm alone. Finding the coast clear, I venture out to procure my next meal. I'm reluctant to head back into town, but I don't know where else I would find food. This is what Matt was good at. He always knew what to do. I can't believe he's gone. I harden my heart by necessity and trudge towards town.

 

I find an un-raided grocery store, easy enough. I'm standing in the aisle, stuffing my face with pork rinds, completely (stupidly) oblivious to my surroundings when I hear a voice from behind me.

 

“Hungry?” He asks.

 

I spin around and draw my knife like I could actually kill him. Unlikely. I guess my feebly protective stance belies my lack of confidence because his next words are “You don't actually think you're gonna use that, do you?” I'm mad now. Not just mad. I'm enraged. I've lost everything and everyone that ever meant anything to me and this guy is giving me shit? FUCK him! FUCK this!

 

He grabs the (seriously sweet fucking) dagger out of his belt and lunges at me. Just when I'm wondering why my heart is still beating, I hear the thump of a dead walker at my feet. “Thanks,” is all I can muster. I look up at him. Fuck me, he's gorgeous. Jet black hair framing impeccable ivory skin, pink lips that I just want to attack with my mouth and... other places. Ok, enough about how pretty he is. I hate this guy.

 

I stab him in the thigh. “OW! Why'd you do that?!” He wails. Why did I do that? I have no idea. I just don't like this guy. My feelings about him are confirmed when I see, from my periphery vision, a bag of potatoes making a B-line to my head. Fuck. This is less than ideal.

 

I feel the impact and my skull screams.

 

Am I dying? What does that mean? To die? Given what the world has become, can we avoid it?


	2. Chapter 2

I'm shaking. Why am I shaking? Oh, I'm not. My environment is. Wait, what? I open my eyes to survey my surroundings. A car. No, a van? I'm in a van. The potato-wielding stranger is driving. I can't move my arms. “You tied me up?” I shriek, struggling against the bonds to no avail.

“You stabbed me. What would you have me do, oh dark and dangerous one?” He replies smoothly.

“This is bullshit,” I grumble, further testing the... “Duct tape? Really? Can you be more cliché?”

“Hey, beggars can't be choosers.”

“So, yes then. Yes you can.” I roll my eyes. “Where are we?”

“Georgia.” He gives me a sideways glance and the hint of a smirk. It's adorable. Damnit, Gilbert! Focus!

“Why are we in Georgia and why am I not dead?” I ask, slumping back into the passenger seat that is my temporary prison. _Also, why am I in the passenger seat and not thrown haphazardly into the back?_

“Tsk. So many questions.”

“Fine. Will you tell me your name at least?” I sigh, feeling completely helpless in this situation.

“Why, so you can go all Arya Stark and recite it every night before you go to sleep?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He chuckles lightly.

“Well, far be it from me to deny a lady any opportunity. Damon. And you are?”

“Pissed off. Where are you taking me?” I smirk, secretly enjoying this banter. It's been too long since I met someone who can dish it out like this.

“Ah, ah, ah!” He wags his finger at me. “Fair play will get you everywhere. Being a little brat will get you... Well, you get the picture.”

“Elena,” I concede after a pregnant pause.

“Well, now. That wasn't so hard, was it Elena?”

 

I shrug absently and turn to gaze out the passenger side window. I watch the trees whiz by as I recall the last time I was in Georgia. It was with my family. I was about 14. We road-tripped through Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. Those memories are all smiles and sunshine and ice cream and... Now they're all dead. Everyone I ever loved is dead.

 

My Dad was the first. When it first happened, it happened fast. In the morning everything was fine. By the end of the day there were reports coming in from all over the place about people gone mad, attacking others without provocation. My Dad never came home from work that day. Mom gathered us up that evening (myself, my brother Jeremy and our german shepherd, Baby), when it was clear that the situation was totally out of control. We were going to flee to my Aunt's place up in Maine. We had to stop for fuel before we hit the highway. That's as far as we made it with Mom. That's where we found Dad. Dead Dad.

 

His car was pulled up to one of the pumps. This we noticed first. “Grayson,” my Mom whispered. And then, as if on cue, there he was. Rounding the side of the building, he appeared, face twisted in an unnatural snarl, half his throat missing. His blue-gray eyes were only gray now, and dull. Lifeless. His salt and pepper hair was coated with blood, as was most of his clothing. Mom jumped out and rushed over to him, before either myself or Jeremy could utter a word.

 

He killed her. We sat right there and watched the whole thing. He killed her. Right in front of us. My Father killed my Mother. But it wasn't my Father. I know that now. At the time, though, watching my father's living corpse dig frozen, greedy fingers into my mother's eyes-burrowing deeply in her brain as blood oozed from the empty sockets-and sink ravenous teeth into the soft flesh of her cheek

... I've never seen anything so horrifying. Jeremy and I were screaming and crying in equal measure; Baby wailing in the back seat, trying fervently to get out of the damn car and rescue her people.

 

I jumped into the driver's seat and pealed the fuck out of there.

 

Transporting myself back to the present, I realize I have more questions. “Where are you taking me?”

“My camp.” At least he's forthcoming.

“Why didn't you kill me?” It occurs to me that, if I had been better prepared, he would've been a pile of guts on the floor of that grocery store. Why didn't I receive the same treatment?

“Oh, believe me. I wanted to. But I made a promise to someone.” Something in the atmosphere shifts. Despite his admission of wanting to kill me, I feel safer, more comfortable now. I look at him. Like, _really_ look at him. He's goddamn gorgeous, which just isn't fair. Why are the prettiest ones always such assholes?

 

His black hair is dirty and stiff, poking out in all directions. His ivory skin is graced with a few itty-bitty brown freckles and a healthy helping of stubble. His pink, full lips seem to be stuck in a perma-smirk and his long, luscious eyelashes frame the most impeccable set of eyes I've ever seen. Clear blue like the morning sky. Like I said, it's not even fair.

 

“You're staring,” he announces.

“I'm gazing,” I reply. I seriously hate this guy but, DAMN is he pretty.

“Did you just quote a shitty teenaged vampire show?”

“Did you just admit to having seen said shitty teenaged vampire show?”

“Touché.”

 

“Shit...” He says after a few minutes of silence. That can't be good. I look up from awkwardly examining my hands to see the source of his concern. The winding country highway we've been traveling has unwound into a straight stretch, revealing a herd of about 50 walkers littering the road. “Hold on,” he tells me. _Hold on? To what? I'm fucking tied up!_

“Wait, what? What are you doing?!” I shout.

“Drive-thru,” he winks at me. It would be hot if it wasn't so utterly asinine.

 

He stomps the gas pedal and we're hurtling towards the horde in our Dodge Grand Caravan. Somewhere, in the midst of my panic, it occurs to me that we're about to plow through a gaggle of the undead in a vehicle designed to transport children to and from soccer practice. I almost laugh. _SPLAT!_ The first one bounces off the grill and slides up the windshield before being thrown to the side, leaving a trail of blood and entrails in its wake. The second one jams in the wheel well, slowing us down fractionally before it's dislodged. _THUD! THUD! THUD!_ Go the next three, in quick succession. Damon switches on the wipers to clear the undead, gooey detritus from the windshield.

“Fuck...” He mutters. We're only going about 50 now and the next group is 7 or 8 of them. We ram into them and as the first two or three pass under the front spoiler my heart skips a beat. I already know what's about to happen. We skip over those few but we've lost so much speed that by the time we hit the next four or so we just lightly roll into them. Our tires start slipping on the people-pudding beneath us. We're fucked.

 

“Damon...”

“I know!” He shouts. He grabs the knife from his front pocket and cuts me loose. I make quick work of pulling all the tape off while the walkers surround our van and start trying to claw inside.

“I don't suppose you have any clever ideas right about now?” I ask hopefully.

“Try not to die. That's my plan.”

 

Great.


End file.
